


Dean Winchester is Dead

by Castiel_in_the_impala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Hell Trauma, Hell nightmares, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sad Ending, Self-Harm, Suicidal Dean, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_in_the_impala/pseuds/Castiel_in_the_impala
Summary: Cas is gone.Sam is gone.Dean can't sleep.What else was he supposed to do?**** TRIGGER WARNINGS!!





	

Dean waits on his stomach, still and silent. The tears falling invisibly onto his pillow.

The springs in Sam’s bed squeak as he sits up quietly. He listens, still as stone, as Sam watches him to see if he is awake.

“Dean?” Sam whispers, “You awake?”

Dean doesn't respond, faking sleep while most of his face is buried in his pillow as he cries without a sound.

He hears Sam’s joints crack as he slowly stands up from his bed and pads over to the bathroom. Sam closes the door, but a small crack of light shines through.

Dean cracks a glossy eye open and watches as Sam fixes his hair and pulls on his jacket and shoes.

Sam has been going out after rough hunts to walk for hours lately, unable to sleep. Dean has confronted him about it, telling him it's not good for him, but soon gives up his argument, feeling guilty for the secret he has.

 

Dean closes his eye, causing a few more tears to leak onto his pillow, and hears Sam shut off the light, scribble a note own on the table, and open the door. Sam pauses and Dean knows he is watching him again for any sign of alertness.

A few moments later, Sam seems to be satisfied that Dean is in a deep sleep, and closes the door to the old cabin, walking into the night.

 

Dean sighs and flips over on his back. He wipes away the wetness on his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. Sam was lucky. He got around 4 hours of sleep a day. Dean was lucky if he could get that much in a week lately it seems.

Ever since Cas disappeared (the Winchesters think he was taken by angels), Dean’s nightmares of Hell have come back stronger than ever. The excruciating pain inflicted on him, both physically and emotionally, in the dreams feels too _real_. So Dean doesn't sleep anymore. He’ll doze off for an hour here or there, but is always violently awoken by his own screams of agony, trying to catch his breath as the fear induced tears get wiped away. On the nights that Sam takes a walk, Dean often wakes up from a memory of hell and frantically looks around for his angel or his brother, the two people he needs most, but finds no one. Then he remembers as he finds the room empty…

 

He is all alone in this.

  


After a couple of minutes, it's clear to Dean that Sam isn't coming back for a while.

Dean groans as he sits up on the bed, tired joints creaking with stress and lack of sleep.

He stands up on wobbly legs, bracing himself on the wall as he blinks the weariness and wetness from his eyes.

 

 _‘Gotta do this quick,’_ he thinks to himself, ‘ _Before Sam gets back_.’

Dean shuffles over to his wallet. He fingers through the pockets until he finds the slit he made to hide something no one else can know about. He pulls out something silver. The shiny, smooth metal catches the moonlight coming from the slits in the curtains on the window.

 _A blade_.

 

Dean sighs deeply and sniffles as he heads to the bathroom.

 

He hears the satisfying _click_ of the lock that tells him he’s safe in the tiny room.

He sets the blade down on the bathroom counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Cold, lifeless, _haunted_ eyes stare back at him. They’re a shade duller green than usual, almost gray.

 _“Pathetic,”_ he thinks, _“Absolutely pathetic wreck of a human being. You couldn’t even stop yourself from torturing in hell. Everyone you touch dies. No wonder dad loved Sam more. No wonder Sam left for Stanford. No wonder Cas didn’t come back…”_

Dean breaks eye contact with the reflection and breaks down. The sounds of his quiet sobbing fill the bathroom.

 

He slides down the wall sniffling, razor in hand. He stares at it. Many blades, just like this one, have crossed paths this his skin. For years now, actually. Now it almost like a routine.

Pretend to sleep.

Wait for Sam to leave.

Sneak into the bathroom.

Cut.

Clean.

Go back to bed.

Repeat.

Dean looks down at his palm and smiles sadly at the blade. The one thing he wants more than this blade right now, is Cas. He doesn't want anything more than for Cas to hold him and tell him everything will be okay. He knows it's pitiful, but so is he apparently. Dean just wants Cas. But he hasn't answered any of his frantic prayers for _nine months,_ so this blade will have to do for now, temporarily numbing the pain for a little while.

 

Dean wipes away a few stray tears before he holds the blade up to his wrist, slowly dragging it across the skin. He bites his lip, savoring the bittersweet pain of it all. He lifts the blade and repeats, over and over. Dean’s worries and sorrows are temporarily sliced away, blissful numbness left in it’s wake.

 

After a little while, Dean groggily opens his eyes. He lifts his head from leaning back against the wall. He didn’t remember falling asleep…

He wakes up a bit more when he realizes he can't feel his hands.

 

He looks down quickly, but regrets it instantly as a headache slams into him, causing him to wince, his eyes shut in pain. The sheer mass of it all makes him want to throw up.

 

After the initial migraine begins to subside, he opens his eyes again.

Dean gasps.

 _‘I went too far,’_ he thinks as he looks at himself in shock.

 

The razor sits in a pool of blood that covers the floor by his feet. His arms are littered with deep cuts, coated with the still-flowing liquid.

He tries to move his hands, but finds them cold and numb. Dean attempts to get up, but the migraine returns from all the blood he’s lost and he collapses back onto the floor, breathing heavily.

 

_‘I need help.’_

Dean goes over his options as his mind begins to fog up.

Cas? No, he hasn't answered in months. Sam? Dean left his phone in the other room.

His only hope now is that Sam comes back earlier than normal from his walk.

  


After what seems like hours, Dean faintly hears the motel room door unlocking. He tries to open his eyes, but they’re too heavy.

His mind is completely fogged over now, blackness poking and prodding the edges of his consciousness, unable to process anything.

There's a muffled, “Dean? You in there?”

Dean tries to speak, but he is unable to form any words due to all the blood he's lost. Scratch that, is _still losing_. He can still feel the dark liquid dripping down his arms and pooling on the cold tile floor.

Sam knocks. “Dean?”

Gathering up all the strength he can, he lifts his hand in the direction of the door and groans incoherently before his arm drops with a thud in a puddle of red and the blackness engulfs him.

 

xx

 

Sam unlocks the door to the cabin. He curses himself for forgetting his phone on the table. He steps inside and immediately notices that Dean isn't in bed. He looks up to see a dim light coming from underneath the bathroom door. He walks up to it. “Dean? You in there?”

There’s no response, which is weird. He knocks. “Dean?”

He waits for a response. It's not like Dean to ignore him like this. Sam hears a small groan and a thudding sound.

“Dean?!” Sam asks frantically, trying the doorknob, only to find it locked.

No response.

_Think fast._

“Dean!” Sam calls, “I’m coming in!”

Sam stands back and charges at the door, breaking the flimsy material with his shoulder on the first blow.

 

“ _Dean!_ ”

Sam nearly faints. He stops, stone cold, as he stares at the large, crimson pool on the tiles. Dean is sitting in the center of it, leaning up against the bathroom wall, pale and unconscious. His arms are torn up, as if attacked by a wild animal, from wrist to elbow and Sam spots a small, silver blade in Dean’s cooling blood.

Sam reaches down, feeling for a pulse. He’s startled to feel such cool skin beneath his fingers.

“Oh Dean… How could you do this…” he says aloud, voice laced with dread.

After a good minute of searching for a heartbeat, Sam starts crying. He nearly pulls away and gives up when a single heartbeat is caught. It was extremely weak, but it was there.

 

Sam rushes to the sink, grabbing the white towels they bought from Walmart. He bends down, wrapping Dean’s arms carefully.

The towels are soaked with red in a matter of seconds.

“ _No no no no…”_ Sam chants as he tries, and fails, to stop the bleeding.

Knowing it’s too late to try and get Dean to the hospital, which is a good hour and a half away, Sam does the only thing he can think of.

He stands up, looks toward the ceiling and yells at the top of his lungs, “Listen up Castiel, you son of a bitch! If you’re alive and care about Dean _at all_ , get your ass down here and save him! I _beg_ you. He’s all I have. He tried to _kill_ himself, Cas! _Please!_ ”

Sam pauses for a breathless second. Only the sound of his brother’s quiet, ragged breathing disturbs the silence.

Sam’s eyes tear up when the minutes pass and Cas still hasn’t shown up. He tries his best to bandage his brother up, but it doesn’t work. Now Dean’s cold, pale, bleeding body lays in his lap. Minutes are remaining till his heart stops completely.

 

Sam cries.

 

Sam carries Dean into the bedroom, lays him on the bed, and holds his hand.

A few minutes pass and Dean’s head jerks slightly, pulling Sam out of his daze.

“Dean?” he whispers, voice trembling. He grips his brother’s hand tighter, realizing what’s happening.

Dean breathes his last breath with a gasp, his body immediately turning ice cold as the hands of death grasp him.   
Sam rests his forehead on Dean’s unmoving chest. “Please come back,” his voice cracks, “ _Please_.”

 

As Sam cries over his brother’s dead body, a certain angel screams in soul-crushing agony in the depths of heaven’s jail. Every day, he is tortured, the angels slowly breaking and draining his grace. But none of that compares to the heartbreaking prayers of the Winchesters and the feeling of Dean’s bond being severed by the hand of death. With the last of his grace, Cas screams loud enough for the vibrations to be felt on earth. _“Dean Winchester is dead.”_

Cas’ lifeless body collapses to the ground, as cold and as broken as Dean.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry :P


End file.
